


A Bodyguard for Christmas

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Bodygaurd, Alternate Universe-Modern, Christmas fic, F/M, Secret Santa Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:12:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Early Christmas presents are a very nice treat, unless they are the world's most irritating bodyguard hired by your overprotective dad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashwritesstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashwritesstuff/gifts).



> This is the first chapter of my Secret Santa fic, for the wonderful ashwritesstuff, whose words are "Snuggle, warmth, security" . Hope you enjoy!

Brienne stared numbly at the smartly dressed gentleman standing in the centre of her living room. He stood tall and dignified amongst her clutter. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit and frock coat, with hair and nails cut and groomed to perfection, he could be no more out of place than if he had been a Sevenmas fairy. Brienne crossed her arms over her damp shirt, still sweaty and covered with hair from the stables. He produced a business card with a flick of a hand, as slick and theatrical as a magician and twice as smarmy.

“Jaime Lannister,” he drawled. “Personal Security. Lord Selwyn Tarth sent me.”

“Look,” Brienne said, forcing herself to smile pleasantly. “I understand it must be inconvenient for you, forced to come here only to be turned away. But the truth is I simply do not need a bodyguard.”

Lannister stared pointedly at Brienne’s scarred cheek, still wrapped up in layers of gauze, and scoffed. “So, I can see.”

Brienne swallowed down a lump in her throat, her skin turning red and blotchy, fingers itching to wipe the insolent smirk off his chiselled face.

“The police already have a firm idea of who might have staged the attack,” Brienne said stiffly. “Sever of Stannis Baratheon’s former followers have already come forward and have provided many potential leads. I am sure the matter shall be at rest within days.”

“Perhaps,” Lannister conceded. “But it only took a second for that bomb to go off, didn’t it?”

Brienne narrowed her lips, resenting the man for his logic.

“Please, just sit down,” Brienne said. “I need to call my father.”

Jaime Lannister gracefully settled onto her half-collapsed sofa, elegantly sprawled amongst the mounds of cushions.

“I’ll make myself at home,” he announced.

“Don’t count on it,” Brienne muttered under her breath.


	2. Chapter 2

_“-only child. I have no other family, no siblings. Your mother is dead, Galladon is gone. You must let me do what I can to take care of my little girl. “_

_“I know that Dad, but this really is- “_

_“It’s not as though money is an object. The ports and tourism are still raking it in, and Seven knows my father left me a fair bit. You won’t let me buy you a nicer flat in a safer neighbourhood and you insist on making it on your own, working at that stables. I might as well spend it on something.”_

_“Yes, I know that Dad. But- “_

_“And goodness Estermont has been giving me enough grief at the club ever since he found out about the attack. Dropping not so subtle hints that it’s my fault for letting you galivant around King’s Landing on your own.”_

_“Dad, you really shouldn’t- “_

_“And the less said about Lord Frey the better. He’s been hinting I should marry you off to him and have him take care of you.”_

_“Well that is very disturbing, even so- “_

_“If that lecher makes anther comment like that, I’m going to have the entire Gold Cloaks guarding your flat.”_

_“Seven Hells Dad! Having a bodyguard sent over was already a step too far, I don’t need any Gold Cloaks dogging my steps.”_

_“Well, it’s one of the other.”_

_“Seriously Dad?”_

_“Seriously. The title of Evenstar might not command the same respect it did in the age of heroes, but I can still pull some strings when needed. And until whoever planted that car bomb is behind bars, I’m not taking any risks. Think of it as an early Christmas present.”_

_“Early Christmas present! Am I meant to say thank you?”_

_“What, don’t you think he’s handsome?”_

_“...Dad, is this another one of your matchmaking attempts? Dad?”_

Brienne slammed down the phone, cursing her father for his cowardly retreat. She turned to face Lannister, who was reclining comfortably on the sofa and flicking lazily through the channels.

“So?” Jaime smiled at her. “Which one is my room?”


	3. Chapter 3

 

House Rules 

_(J-House, really? You can’t even say flat rules? Perhaps hovel would be more apt?)_

  1. I have cleared a shelf for you in the bathroom cabinet. That is yours. You have no need to root through my toiletries and other personal items. You certainly have no need to inspect my sanitary towels. _(The brand you’re getting is shit. Keep using them if you wish, but if you leak everywhere that’s on your own head.)_



2.Talking about bathrooms, you can spend ten minutes in there at a time, maximum. Either morning or evening you get twenty to shower. Forty minutes primping over your hair is **unacceptable**. ( _Just because you are content to look like a beggar off the streets doesn’t mean I have to lower myself to your level.)_

  1. If the toilet doesn’t flush, just keep thrusting the handle like a pump. **Do Not** just leave your business floating around.
  2. If you finish the last of something, toothpaste, biscuits, milk etc…you replace it.
  3. No loud music or tv after ten pm.
  4. Clothes belong in your drawers or the washing hamper. They are NOT to be left on the floor. _(Why not? Isn’t that how the get tidied away?)_
  5. No leaving your bedroom after twelve pm or before five am. The floorboards creak and wake everyone in the building up. _(Is this the moment when you tell me you’re secretly a serial killer who likes to torture her victims in the night? Because if so, I am going to need a raise.)_
  6. No acting like an entitled, privileged posh brat. If my home isn’t good for you, then you are more than welcome to leave.
  7. No wandering around in your underwear. And definitely no wandering about _without_ your underwear. You will remain fully dressed at all times. _(Come of it. We both know you think I’m gorgeous. Why else did you turn red and starting gawping like a goldfish? I think the lady doth protest too much.)_
  8. At all times! _(See.)_




	4. Chapter 4

For all his faults, Jaime Lannister was a conscientious and thorough bodyguard. Lord Selwyn Tarth had paid well to have his daughter well cared for, and Jaime was determined to earn his commission and do everything within his power to see his mulish charge protected. But she did make it awfully difficult.

The stubborn wench was so difficult, so ungrateful, that it took all of Jaime’s self-restrain not to abandon her to her would be attackers. Of course, Brienne of Tarth couldn’t recognise this great gesture on his part and focussed more on Jaime’s constant complaints (such as his lack of en suite bathroom) and insults (“I know you work with horses but must you go around smelling like one”) which often led into some truly God awful puns (“You really are an old nag, aren’t you? Hah! Get it?”) that made Brienne suspect Jaime had been in contact with her father long before the attack.

Regardless of her lack of a sense of humour, Jaime gallantly stuck by her every second of the day. He escorted her to work, where it was a contest to see who fawned over Jaime more, Brienne’s colleagues of the horses themselves. He thoroughly tasted her meals for traces of poison, diligently tucking into her meatball subs and black forest gateau, just to make certain. He even held her hand as she tried to cross the road, which was just a step too far.

“Stop it!” Brienne snapped, snatching her hand away.

“Just making sure you’re crossing the road safely Wench,” Jaime chirped. “If you get squished, I don’t get my pay cheque.”

“My father paid you to protect me from attackers, not cars,” Brienne insisted.

“All part of the service.” Jaime gave her a gleaming smile. “I’ll be waiting outside the bathroom as you shower tonight, in case you fall and need me to come to your rescue.”

Brienne’s cheek flared bright red along with the traffic lights, brief images of Jaime heroically carrying her naked, soapy body to safety.

“Time to cross!” Jaime announced, taking a hold of Brienne’s hand once more. “Now look both way and no running.”


	5. Chapter 5

Brienne felt like a teenager, sneaking out of the house past curfew. Of course, whereas other teenagers were sneaking out to meet out with their friends and do coke, Brienne would scale down the walls of Evenfall Hall in order to go ghost watching in the family tombs. This time she simply waited until Jaime had gone to bed and sneaked out of the fire exit. Two weeks stuck with Jaime Lannister babysitting her had driven her stir crazy and if she had to go another second without getting a moment to herself, she was going to tear her flat down around its ears.

She sat hunched on the stairwell, shuddering violently in her thin jumper, the frigid wind biting at her goose pimpled skin. If Jaime would just _leave,_ she could be warm and comfortable, snuggled up on the sofa and watching dodgy Sevenmas films. Nor would she have to put up with strangers gawping at them in the street, wondering why such a perfectly handsome man with be seen with an ugly, broken brute like her. Of course, she wouldn’t have a bodyguard or a scar if that bomb hadn’t been in her car.

And she wouldn’t have ended up being targeted by former Minister Baratheon’s fanatics if she hadn’t been the only witness to Renly’s murder at the hands of his own brother.

_Renly._

Brienne only realised she was crying when the salt of tears pricked and burned her frozen cheeks.

And she only realised someone was watching her when the window above her head shattered and glass rained down on her like snow.

Brienne just had enough time to duck her head before a second bullet was fired. Through her fingers she saw a small figure in the shadows, their outline lit up by the dim streetlights. She heard footsteps coming towards her, but she sat there like a duck. It was only when she heard the heavy breathing from the bottom of the steps that she got up to move.

“Brienne!”

Jaime stumbled out of the fire door and stumbled down the top steps. He gripped her wrist in one hand and shoved her back down with the other, curving over her like a shield.

“Move,” he ordered.

He hauled her up the stairs and shoved her into the flat, slamming the door shut behind him. He checked the windows and breathed as he saw the gunman retreating into the shadows, making their getaway. Brienne was shivering, cold as ice and yet sweat trickled down her back

“Alright,” Jaime said, reaching out to Brienne and wrapping his arms round her shoulders. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

The penthouse of the Red Keep apartments was everything Brienne had imagined to be, and more. Private lifts, marble floor, obsequious concierges and rooms larger than the entirety of her flat combined. Since her home was now ‘compromised’, Jaime decided an immediate relocation was in order. And so, Brienne was not only robbed of her reflection, but also her home.

Brienne hovered in the door way, looking around Jaime’s home with a mix of distaste and awe. Had she not known any better, she could well have believed it to be museum or upscale hotel for corrupt businessmen. The gleaming floors and luxurious furniture and decadent artwork were beautiful and tasteful, but soulless.

“You don’t like it?” Jaime asked with a bemused expression.

“It feels too…” Brienne looked for the right word. “Clean.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Too clean? Well, I suppose someone whose idea of a fun night out is shovel horse dung would agree. But for the rest of us whose best friends aren’t horses and who don’t bed down in stables, the smell of soap and lack of dirt is quite welcome in one’s home.”

Brienne glared sullenly, eyeing the sparkling white walls with suspicion.

“You know full well I don’t actually live in the stables, but even you must admit that this place is just too polished,” she insisted. “It’s more like a show room of a home than an actual home. There needs to be some mess, some clutter. Just to show it’s being lived in.”

“Just because you like to live in a sty- “

“Not a sty, but _something_.” Brienne looked around the flat and shrugged. “Something homey, so that when you first step through the door you can see the best of yourself and your roots looking back out at you. When I first moved out and came to King’s Landing, I only coped because whenever I came home it felt like stepping into my dad’s arms for a hug.”

“And it does,” Jaime assured her. “This flat does just that.”

“It makes you feel like you’re being hugged by your dad?”

“Correct.”

“But it’s so cold and sterile.”

“Correct.”

Bienne blinked. “That’s… sad,” she said awkwardly, wishing she could swallow her tongue and choke.

“Correct.” Jaime gave her an empty grin. “But also, just like my dad, this place is an impenetrable fortress, which is exactly what we need to keep you safe and make sure you stop having nightmares.”

“I’m not having nightmares,” Brienne lied.

“Walls are very thin.” Jaime smirked. “So, either you’re having nightmares, or you are jacking it to the world’s worst vibrator.”

“Why you- “Brienne spluttered.

Jaime laid a reassuring hand on Brienne’s shoulder. “And I know it’s not the latter, because a woman like you could really do with investing in a high end model.”


	7. Chapter 7

House Rules (for something of an actual _house_ size, this time Wench!)

  1. Your bedroom has an attached en suite bathroom. All toiletries will be provided, _including_ sanitary towels. I will **not** have you leaking all over my designer white leather furniture. Or my Myrish cotton sheets.
  2. On that notes, you are to use your bathroom for forty minutes minimum. Anything less is **unacceptable**.
  3. Shower or baths after we get back from the stables are to be an hour minimum. Seriously Wench, when you work with horses, cleanliness is a must.
  4. If you break anything of value, modern art, priceless sculptures, vases from Yi Ti, Tommen’s kitten drawings etc…you replace it.
  5. Dirty clothes are to be left on the floor. It is Pia’s job to tidy them up, and if you do it for her then she will only be insulted. By leaving messes for her to tidy up we show the trust we have in her ability to do her work. This way we provide her with job satisfaction and job security.
  6. Movie night is every Friday in my bedroom. Attendance is mandatory. Dress code: teddy bear onesies or a lace negligee. If lacking in either, approach me with a formal request and you will be sufficiently provided.
  7. No leaving your bedroom after eleven pm. I am secretly a serial killer and that’s my torture time.
  8. No leaving the house without my knowledge and without a trusted escort. After the last attack I’m not taking any risks.
  9. No wandering around in anything but your underwear.
  10. And by underwear, I mean thongs. Again, if lacking, come to me.




	8. Chapter 8

Jaime was, to Brienne’s surprise and slight shame, quite a good host. Better than Brienne had been. Perhaps the man would not have seemed so pleasant had she not already suffered through him at his worst, but now he was returned to his natural habitat of opulence and luxury, he was far more tolerable to be around.

That he had saved Brienne’s life and held her as bullets ricocheted around the pair played no small part either. Brienne was certainly more willing to suffer his protection once it became clear the car attack as no one off, for which her near hysterical father was grateful.

Jaime was also a good cook. A really good cook.

“Better than take away any day,” Brienne sighed as she scraped up the last of the gravy.

Jaime tutted as he dished up more stew onto her plate. “Do you know how much salt is in that crap? No point guarding you form guns and bombs just for you to have a heart attack.” Jaime flashed her a grin as he settled across from her in companionable silence, rifling through the post.

It was when he came across a gaudy silver envelope that spilled out glitter like the lava from a volcano that the smile on his face froze, then slipped away.

“What’s wrong?” Brienne whispered, fearing another sudden relocation.

“An invitation,” Jaime said in a strangled voice, “To a costume Christmas party.”

Brienne shuddered, eyeing up the sparkly envelope with distaste. “How miserable, can’t you cry sick?”

Jaime shook his head and gave Brienne a wry smile.

“It’s not the invite I protest to, I am always up for getting into my sexy Santa costume.” He leered at her lasciviously. “It’s from who it came. My brother hasn’t spoken to me in six months, and now this comes out of the blue. I thought he hated me, loathed me even. You see-” Jaime propped himself up on his elbows. “I did something rather awful to him, something I did not think he would ever forgive me for.”

“Oh,” Brienne said, longing to find an escape from a conversation that suddenly seemed destined to turn serious and emotional. Jaime looked grey and draw as he stared pensively as the glittery card. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Well- “Jaime began.

“You are right, it’s too private,” Brienne said quickly, “I should not intrude.”

“No, you’re not getting out of it that quickly,” Jaime chided her. “But we can’t talk now, no time, we will have to do it while we’re shopping.”

“While we’re what?” Brienne demanded.

Something like Jaime’s old sparkly entered into his eyes.

“Well the party is tonight, and I can hardly leave you here. So, if you are going to come, you are going to need a costume.”


	9. Chapter 9

Once they had ruled out sexy Mrs Clause, sexy elf, sexy angel, sexy reindeer, sexy sheep, sexy Christmas cracker etc… Jaime thrust a delicate silvery blue mask covered in glitter and sequins into her hands.

“Wear that with a blue dress and go as a snowflake,” he ordered.

“A sexy snowflake?” Brienne grumbled, holding up the mask.

“Is there any other kind?” Jaime’s eyes raked over Brienne’s body. “In fact, forget the dress. Just cover yourself in glue and roll around in glitter.”

“And you?”

“A sexy snowman, of course.” Jaime smirked. “I will spray paint myself white and go wearing nothing but a scarf, mittens and a strategically placed top hat.”

“And where will you hide your gun?” Brienne asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Jaime winked.

“You are wearing clothes.” Brienne ordered. “Both of us are. If you want to go nude, you’re going alone.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not leaving your side, remember? Or do you want me to get your dad on the phone again?” Jaime shrugged. “Or we can just not go.”

“He’s your brother!” Brienne protested, “You have given your word that you will go. You cannot back out now.”

“Why not? He is probably regretting inviting me already.” Jaime said with a bitter twist to his lip, turning his back.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Jaime shook his head. “I haven’t told you why we stopped talking.”

Brienne was about to decide which window was best to jump out of when she noticed the slump to Jaime’s shoulder. She reached and slowly rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me now?”

Jaime exhaled harshly and closed his eyes.

“Growing up, you have to understand, we were really rich. I mean really rich. I mean you can probably tell. My bodyguard fees wouldn’t pay for the utility cupboard in this building. Our father only let us mix with people on a similar level, but once your bank statement reaches a certain amount of zeroes your morality goes way down, and we were stuck with a bunch of gold-digging, backstabbing social climbers. It was bad enough for me, but much worse for Tyrion. Everyone we knew was an image obsessed narcissist. None more so than our father.” Jaime balled his hand into a fist, his knuckles turning white. “And Tyrion has dwarfism.  Father always never let him forget that if anybody treated him with anything but contempt and disgust, it was because they were after his name and wealth. Women especially.”

Jaime turned to Brienne, looking suddenly frantic. “I love Tyrion more than anyone,” he said furiously, “And I have never forgiven Father for treating Tyrion like that but…. when you look at the people, he surrounded us with- “

“He was right?” Brienne guessed.

“The way they treated Tyrion….” Jaime looked at his hands, his face white and drawn. “It was like at times I was his only protector. I was always on the lookout for someone who was out to mock him or use him. So, when he found a girlfriend, a woman he adored and seemed to adore him, and my father told me that she was just using him…”

“You believed it?” Brienne said softly, squeezing his shoulder.

“I did. And when I told Tyrion he had to break up with her, he believed me too.” Jaime admitted. “He was only twenty at the time. His heart was broken, but he moved on. Then, years later, they meet again, and it all comes to light.” Jaime swallowed. “And that is when he realised that his big brother, the one person who never thought less of him because of his height, had agreed with our father that a woman could never love truly him, and saw him as unworthy as everyone else.”

“I understand,” Brienne said quietly, “I see why you are nervous to see him again. And I always see why you absolutely must go.” Brienne looked at him sternly. “Now, where are the top hats?”


	10. Chapter 10

Brienne loathed parties. Costume parties especially, ever since Hyle Hunt pulled the classic ‘inviting you to my costume party only whoops no one else is in costume’ prank on her in Year Ten. From the neck down, she looked relatively inoffensive in a blue jumper with a big silver snowflake made of sequins in the centre (she put her foot down on the dress, and the body glitter,) but she longed to ditch the mask. But Jaime; her bossy bodyguard, insisted she at least wear it for their arrival.

The pair stood at the entrance of Tyrion’s apartment, both dripping with dread. Brienne pictured herself hidden in the toilet all evening, leaving only to sneak canapes. She pictured strangers giving her devil eyes over cups of spiked punch. She pictured incredulous stares coming at her and Jaime, wondering why such a mismatched pair would arrive together. She pictured poisoned words soaked in sugar and sniggers behind manicured claws.

What she had not pictured, was Santa’s Sex Dungeon.

Fairy lights and tinsel hung from every inch of the ceiling, with red fluffy handcuffs enticingly dangling from the ends. Especially commissioned sexy covers of Christmas songs boomed out into Brienne’s ear drums, redone so that every line sounded like music from a porno. Copious glasses of alcohol splashed out of antique crystal glasses, served by waitresses in costumes so indecent Brienne would have considered them problematic had the waiters carrying around silver trays of food not been equally exposed. The food itself smelled mouth-watering, a vast array of gourmet puddings and savouries. But Jaime’s brother seemed to have given the caterers the order that everything that could be made to look like a penis, pair of breasts or any form of genitalia, it should.

“He’s toned it down a bit this year,” Jaime noted.

“Jaime!”

A man who, from his rakish smile and devilish eyes, could only be Jaime’s brother, stumbled forward through the heaving crowds. A pretty girl Brienne presumed to be Tysha followed a step behind, her cheeks already flushed with drink and her lips matching the lipstick smeared all over Tyrion’s beaming face.

“Tyrion!” Jaime cried.

The two brothers stared at each other, green eyes swimming with things unsaid. Jaime gulped and blinked, while Tyrion gave a watery grin. Brienne looked at her feet, wondering how long the pair were going to partake in this silent conversation, and wishing she had some way of leaving them alone. She looked at the crowd, thinking momentarily of joining the throng, before she caught sight of group partaking in something that could be only be called ‘reindeer play’ (a version of pony play with a tasteful nod to the season) and thought better of it.

“I missed you, big brother,” Tyrion said at last, before reaching out and bringing Jaime into a warm embrace. Jaime returned the hug, wrapping his around Tyrion and squeezing him tightly.

“And who’s this?” Tyrion asked, looking up at Brienne inquisitively.

Brienne turned red under his stare and wished her mask covered the scar marring her cheeks.

“Not a girlfriend?” Tyrion suggested, raising an eyebrow at Jaime.

Jaime laughed. “I wish,” he said, wrapping a warm arm around Brienne’s shoulder, “This is Brienne, a client. The situation is quite precarious, and I didn’t feel right leaving her alone.”

“Well the more the merrier!” Tyrion chirped, stepping back and wrapping his arm around Tysha’s waist. “Come in, come in! Help yourself to food and drink.”

“I’m surprised that there is any left.” Jaime drew Brienne from the doorway, arm still lingering around her shoulders. “I would have thought you’d have drunk it all.”

Tyrion chuckled, but his eyes remained fixed on the arm planted firmly around Brienne. Jaime’s arm remained there, until Brienne made her escape to the ladies for a brief respite form merriment.

“You know,” Tyrion said thoughtfully, “I was wondering what to give you for a present this year. But now I’m thinking of just sticking a bow on your ‘client’ and pushing her onto your lap.”

“It’s not like that Tyrion,” Jaime said half-heartedly.

“No? I suppose that means you don’t want me to have a bunch of mistletoe over the bathroom door ready for her when she comes out then?” Tyrion suggested.

Jaime looked over at the door, picturing Brienne’s toned body lurking behind.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” Jaime said quickly.


	11. Chapter 11

The kiss Jaime had planted onto her cheek, having ambushed her on her way out from the bathroom, was feather light and chaste. And yet still Brienne’s cheeks had flared up in that adorable blush Jaime so loved and remained firmly painted on her cheek, all throughout the party and the journey home. They spoke nothing of it, but all the while they exchanged small, secret smiles, and Jaime’s hand rested firmly on the small of Brienne’s back. And when they stood waiting for the taxi in Tyrion’s foyer, the party having finished around the same time Tyrion passed out handcuffed to Santa’s sleigh, Brienne’s hand crept into his own.

Brienne could not help by feel as though merely warmth of his hand through is fine cashmere gloves was enough to set sparks flying.

And then sparks were actually flying.

Jaime managed to get Brienne to the floor just as the glass of the double doors were smashed open, curving his body over hers to guard her from the glittering shards that showered down on them like lightning. Crouched down in a tight curl on the floor, Brienne peaked through Jaime’s arms. In the obliterated doorway, a hooded figure; a masked woman, dressed all in the black raised plastic bottle filled with a thick golden-brown liquid. The mere sight of it was nearly enough for Brienne’s nostrils to be flooded with the familiar smell of petrol and smoke.

Screams assaulted Brienne’s ears and suddenly Brienne was back in her car. Shattered glass and gravel buried into her cheek, her mouth choking on burnt plastic and fire as sirens screeched around her. And the fear, the helplessness, that feeling of being like a broken puppet being pulled along on a string as all control was ripped from her, returned.

The hooded figure had scarce brought out a lighter before Brienne had elbowed Jaime in the stomach, sprung to her feet like an Olympic sprinter and launched herself at the lone figure in the doorway. The shoulders and ribs that Brienne grasped onto were fine and dainty, collapsing to the ground with ease. From a distance, this attacker in black had managed to hide behind their guns and crude bombs, but under Brienne’s muscle they crumbled.

Jaime swore, following hot on Brienne’s and wrenching the petrol bomb from the woman’s grip. He grabbed her flailing wrists and squeezed them together, drawing out a whimper of pain. Brienne stood, hauling up the attacker by the scruff of her clothing and the top of her head. Behind her, she could hear the jabbering of voices and the dialling of phones.

“Right then. You get to see my face?” Brienne snarled, “See what you have done to it. Now it’s time for me to see yours.”

The woman firmly secured by Jaime, Brienne reached out and snatched away the mask. The woman behind it was pretty, with dainty features and full lips. Brienne had not known what she was expecting, but the calm serenity in the woman’s eyes was a blow to the gut.

Melisandre Asshai, one of former Minister Stannis’s most loyal supporters and one of the suspects made known to Brienne. She had received death threats, letters scrawled in ink and pig’s blood, delivered by mail and brick, all telling her she would suffer for testifying at his trial. But providing justice for Renly as not enough of a reason for Brienne to accept having her face; _her face,_ destroyed, and she felt as though understanding was as distant to her as it would have been if the attack came out of nowhere.

“Why?” she whispered.

Melisandre looked at Brienne in mild contempt, silent and unyielding. Grasping her red hair by the roots, Jaime shook her until her teeth rattled.

“Answer her!” he barked.

The lobby was silent as the small crowd waited hungrily for the answer, and beneath everything else Brienne felt a sickening that they were watching her life as they would a TV show being played out for their amusement.

Triumph flared in Melisandre’s eyes, revelling in having a desperate Brienne near begging for an answer. Brienne saw it and flinched, loathing herself for being in this woman’s hold. Whatever she said, whatever the answer Melisandre gave, nothing was good enough for Brienne to understand why she had suffered so.

Shrugging, Brienne shook her head and stepped back. “You know what,” she said simply, “Save it for the police.” Brienne had more important people to talk to.

“Are you alright?” she asked Jaime.

“Would have been better if you hadn’t given me a heart attack with that stunt you pulled.” He smiled. “But now I’m just looking forward to getting this one behind bars.” He gave Melisandre another shake. “I’m sure we can keep her there a very long time.”


	12. Chapter 12

Family Christmas dinners were something Jaime had once looked forward to with the same excitement one felt for a visit to the dentist’s and the Headteacher’s office. With Tyrion having made plans to spend Christmas Day at Tysha’s family home, Jaime had expected to spend the day sat in Tywin Lannister’s formal dining room, with festive reindeer heads festooning the dark oak walls by means of decoration.

 There he would find himself being interrogated by his father, mocked and denied by his sister, and fawned over by the suitable Lannister cousins who were _just_ distant enough in the family tree to be paraded before him as potential brides.

Instead, Jaime had ended up spending Christmas Day waking up in the cosy glow of the cottage on the edge of the Evenfall Hall estate in which Brienne had grown up. The idyllic cottage rather appeared as though a Christmas shop had exploded within its walls. The bitter sea wind was combatted by the open fires and thick, homemade quilts. But even these measures paled in comparison to having Brienne’s muscled body curled up beside him, her thatch of pale blonde hair mussed up like a squirrel’s nest perched above her head.

On arriving on Tarth Jaime threw himself into the family celebrations with aplomb. The family Christmas film fest the night before. The opening of stockings in the morning (Jaime would never have allowed Brienne to live down the fact her dad still did her a stocking signed ‘Love from Father Christmas’ had he not received one also.) He even participated in the annual swim on the beach, charging into the biting sharp sea, his bare skin being bitten by the mercilessly frigid wind, even though Jaime rather feared is balls would turn blue and snap off form the cold (again, Brienne’s large warm body helped sweeten up the deal.)

And then, Christmas dinner itself. A gargantuan feast which Selwyn had taken all morning preparing, the wooden table groaning beneath turkey and chipolatas and pigs in blankets and stuffing and potatoes and parsnips and bowls of rich brown gravy. Jaime and Selwyn had donned their flimsy paper hats the second they pulled the crackers, and between the two of them had managed to inflict Brienne’s own on her head.

It was only in the early evening, with Brienne lying near comatose from overeating on Jaime’s lap before the fire, did a sated and slightly tipsy Selwyn point out that as Melisandre was now safely behind bars, Jaime didn’t _technically_ have to stay on guard by Brienne’s side any longer.

“I mean, no one is trying to hurt her,” Selwyn said gently, slumped down in his armchair with a mince pie on his knee. “You don’t actually have to follow her around like a guard dog anymore.”

“My contract is paid until the end of the month,” Jaime replied lightly. He ran a hand over Brienne’s head, fingers sinking into her warm hair and combing through her locks. The yellow locks ran over his fingers like a stream of sunlight. “And never let it be said that I stray from my duty.”

“Oh, quite right,” Selwyn agreed. “And really, can one ever be too grateful?”

“Precisely,” Jaime said gravely.

“You know, I think we may have to consider renewing your contract.” Selwyn looked at Jaime thoughtfully. “If you are willing of course.”

“I am most willing,” Jaime assured him. “Provided we renegotiate certain terms, I am more than happy to stay in Brienne’s service into the New Year.”

Selwyn raised his mince pie in lieu of a glass in toast. “And long after that as well, we may hope.”


End file.
